For Whom the Bell Tolls Slowly
by feytwilight
Summary: Detective Inspector Edmund Reid reaches the depths of despair as he struggles to save his loved one from the clutches of a deranged madman.
1. The Things He Did For Love

Detective Inspector Edmund Reid adjusted his bowtie in the mirror above the washbasin in his surgeon's dead-room. He dipped his hands in the basin and slowly cleansed them. "Jackson, why _do_ you need a mirror, of all things, in here?" Captain Homer Jackson leaned against a table with his arms crossed, watching the Inspector in his black swallowtails. His reply was soft,

"All the better to see you with…"

"What?" Reid asked while turning. Jackson uncrossed his arms saying,

"I'm making a reference."

"No, you are making yourself the fool." The Inspector replied with certainty.

"I try to leave that part up to you." Jackson shot back flippantly.

"Jackson." Reid growled.

"Reid." Jackson smiled and mimed back happily. Reid glared and Jackson grumbled,

"Alright, fine, I use it to shave, occasionally." Reid stared at the weeks worth of stubble on Jackson's face and said flatly,

"Occasionally."

Jackson tilted his head saying, "Well, once every few days or so. You sometimes keep me here for days, you do know that don't you?"

Reid nodded without pity, "Needs must. I pay you for your services, a sergeant's salary in fact. Are you implying that the amount is…insufficient?" Reid asked with a dangerous glint in his gray eyes.

Jackson shook his head and lifted a hand in exasperation, "I wish you could hear yourself sometimes, I'm just saying, _just_ saying mind, that I'd be nice if I could see what my own bed looks like once in a while, Reid, particularly with me in it." Reid responded softly,

"We could always make you up one in the cell downstairs, if you believe that might be more to your liking, you could look at it any time that you wished." Jackson waved his arms in defeat and said,

"Forget it." Sergeant Bennett Drake entered the lab and hearing Jackson's words said,

"Forget, what?" Reid and Jackson both said at the same time,

"Nothing." Jackson looked to the side, as Reid continued to fiddle with his eveningwear. Bennett looked between them, like a dog shaking fleas, certain that he had missed something. Bennett spoke up, abruptly remembering why he was there,

"Uh, your hansom is outside, ready for you Sir." Reid put his watch chain in his waistcoat pocket and nodded at him saying,

"Thank you, Bennett." Drake frowned, moved forward uncertainly and said slowly,

"If I may ask Sir, this Ball-" Jackson interrupted,

"I think it's more of a private party than a Ball…" Reid ignored Jackson's remark and glanced curiously at Bennett,

"Yes?" Bennett looked uncomfortable for a moment and then stuttered out,

"Well, its just tha-you-you can't trust nobles, Sir!" Jackson smirked and remarked,

"Know many in your time, eh Drake?" Bennett snarled in his direction and said,

"A few, and none of them pleasant, not that you'd know much about it, what with you being a damned Yank an' all. Though if you remember, it was that lord bloke what almost killed Rose in making that moving picture of his." Reid stated dryly,

"I recall Bennett, but you must realize that you cannot judge an entire populace based on the actions of a select few." Bennett nodded slowly without much conviction and said,

"If you say so, Sir. Just be careful though." Jackson interjected knowingly,

"He doesn't know how." Reid swung his stern eyes to Jackson and snapped,

"Please do keep your overly animated opinions to yourself, Jackson." Homer Jackson laughed and slapped his thigh saying,

"You sure _don't_ pay me enough for _that_." Reid sighed. He then braced himself as if getting ready to face a firing squad and left the laboratory going out to the waiting cab and once more unto the breach. The things he did for love.

He picked up Emily at their home. She wore her new green frock that complimented her complexion so perfectly. Reid held his arm out to his wife to assist her in alighting the hansom. She gave him a tight smile and rested her palm lightly on his sleeve. When her skirts had finally folded inside he joined her and gave the address to the driver through the above trapdoor. As the cab began clopping away he felt her eyes on him and turned to her. She asked pointedly, "Do you like the dress?" Reid started,

"Of course Emily, where are my manners, you look lovely." She smiled prettily,

"Thank you, Edmund." She put a gentle lace covered hand on his arm as she said, "I am sorry to drag you away from your work." Reid put a white kid-gloved hand over hers engulfing it,

"There is no need to apologize Emily, it is my pleasure." She took her hand back and put it in her lap as they sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until Edmund mused, "Do you recall when we would often go for a turn about the promenade, you and I?" Emily lowered her eyes and fussed with her skirts,

"That was a long time ago, and I am no longer a blushing girl." Reid caught her eyes with his and said intensely,

"You are still that blushing girl, to me." Emily smiled and said with a sudden wicked look in her eyes,

"Your tongue has always been your finest feature Edmund, silvered or otherwise." Reid leaned towards her and rested his hand on her upper arm as he said,

"Perhaps you would care to test the merit of this finest feature to see if it has faded from disuse?" Emily's smile faded slowly in the face of her husband's ardor. Her mind turned back to the last time they had been together, before their daughter had died. She recalled, once again, who had been the direct cause of her death. Her face closed and she said almost apologetically,

"Edmund, I…" Reid's expression turned fierce, he turned from his wife and looked out the window as he said with feeling,

"Must we constantly-" The cab stopped suddenly cutting him off. The driver opened the trap, and Edmund paid him. He then left the hansom, embarrassingly relieved to be away from his own wife for at least a moment. He turned to help her down and they entered Flora Gable's home. A maid appeared, took Emily's cream cloak and brushed the bottoms of her skirts. They met their hostess, Mrs. Gable. Emily met her flat dark gaze with a polite curtsey. Edmund formally bowed to the short and impressively stately woman in her widow's weeds. Emily greeted,

"Mrs. Gable." Mrs. Gable bowed her stiff neck to them and said,

"Mr. and Mrs. Reid welcome to my home." She took Emily's arm and led her toward one of the couple's relaxing in her large drawing room. She spoke to the Reid's asking, while gesturing to the couple sitting by the fireplace, "Have you met Lord and Lady Haverstime?" Emily shook her head and said,

"No, we have not had the pleasure." Mrs. Gable spoke to the noble couple saying, "This is Mr. and Mrs. Reid." Mrs. Gable left them and moved to another part of the room to speak to a pair of women seated on a settee. Emily exchanged pleasantries with Lady Mauve Haverstime while Edmund spoke with Lord Harry Haverstime. Lady Mauve asked Emily,

"So it is _your_ charity that Flora wished us to invest in, no?" Emily replied,

"Indeed Lady." Harry Haverstime spoke animatedly to Edmund asking,

"I have heard that you are an officer of the law, yes?" Reid answered simply,

"I am." Lord Haverstime fiddled with a pince-nez and said,  
"Oh my, how exciting, it was unfortunate that you never caught that Saucy Jack though!" Reid's lips thinned, and he once more silently cursed Fred Best for publicizing those letters. He answered tightly,

"Quite." Lady Mauve Haverstime asked with a sharper eye than her husband,

"Your charity Mrs. Reid, a reformory for the dissolutes of Whitechapel, I believe?" Mrs. Reid nodded,

"Yes, the unfortunates of Whitechapel need our assistance." Lady Mauve laughed behind a hand and said,

"Truly? I fail to see how, are the jails and workhouses not adequate?" Emily's voice firmed as she stated,

"The poor ought not to be punished simply for the crime of being poor." Mauve Haverstime lifted her head and reassessed her judgment of Mrs. Reid.

"Humph. Well answered, I see you are a woman of conviction Mrs. Reid and I would trust no other hands with my funds." Emily smiled winningly,

"I appreciate both your trust and your kind generosity." Lady Mauve took Mrs. Reid's hand in her own and said honestly,

"Not so much kindness dear, as cold calculation. It benefits us all to have our destitute occupied, educated, and reformed."

After the dinner and passionate appeal from Emily for the funds to run her latest charity project, they left Flora Gable's home, and had a long and thankfully, silent ride home. Reid turned up the gas as he entered their house, the familiar hiss and light somehow reassuring. He left Emily to ready herself to retire as he went to his own bedroom to change. Emily snatched his arm as he passed her. "Edmund, I have to thank you again for doing this for me, I know how you detest social engagements." Edmund stared at her indifferently and said,

"It is nothing." She let her hand drop and Edmund turned his back on her and went up the staircase. Emily cupped her hands to her body to warm herself after feeling her husband's chill regard.

Reid dressed in his plaid suit and quietly left the house without disturbing Emily. He walked the familiar roads to Deborah Goren's Jewish orphanage. He stood outside her building and breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the uncomfortable pressure and pain in his mess of a shoulder easing somewhat, just by being in her vicinity. He knew it was wrong to be doing this, to betray Emily in this way. Not so long ago it would have been unthinkable. Yet now, in some fashion, it had become routine, more than routine. It had become necessary. Deborah did not judge him, she just accepted him, the entirety of his being, with a warm and Mona Lisa smile. It did not feel like a betrayal of all that he held to be honorable. Oh, he knew it was, there was little doubt of that. But it did not _feel_ that way. He continued on to the building and knocked discreetly on the side door. He could already picture her, a lantern in one hand, clad in a flowing nightgown and with a soft hand she would pull him to her bedroom, where they would lay together as quietly as possible, in order not to disturb her young charges, and then talk softly into the early hours of morning about anything. He waited a minute and then knocked again a little louder. He heard footsteps approaching and felt his heart quickening. The door opened, and the hand holding the lantern was not Deborah, but Drake who started back in surprise saying,

"Sir?! How did you get here so quickly? I was just about to send for you." Reid looked at him in confusion, asking,

"Why, what is it sergeant, what are you doing here?" Drake looked at him with something like sympathy in his eyes and moved the lantern back into the hall,

"It's Miss Goren, sir. One of her little ones ran for us a little over an hour ago. She's missing Sir, and…there's blood." Reid pushed past him and entered the orphanage. He passed the tired and scared faces of the children, but spared little thought for them. All his focus was on the certainty that Drake must be mistaken. Deborah was the only constant in his life, the Sun to his Earth. Nothing could- His thoughts studded to a halt as he reached her open bedroom and looked in past the constable standing at attention. The room had obviously been disturbed from a fierce struggle. But his eyes froze when they reached a large puddle of dark red blood on the floor by the door. He forced his gaze away and looked towards constable Nodd. He asked him in what he imagined was a calm tone, "Where is she?" Nodd's eyes looked anywhere but as his superior as he said nervously,

"Er...sorry Sir, but we just don't know. She could be anywhere…" Reid wanted to howl his anguish to the moonless sky. Instead he shouted to Bennett,

"Drake, get me Jackson, now!"


	2. Cracks And Crannies

She trailed her fingers along the walls, feeling each nook and cranny. She could see nothing, hear nothing. But she could feel. She'd stanched the blood on the back of her head with a piece torn off a blanket she had found. Her throat was raw from screaming and dry from thirst. _Feeling was vastly overrated_, she thought wiry. She carefully walked around her prison again. Six strides, turn, then four strides then turn again, six, then four. She knelt at the door and traced its outline. There was a crack along the bottom, no light from the outside, just a small crack, big enough for a rat. Her nails still burned from trying to pry at the solid wooden door. Deborah Goren did not know why she was in this place. She remembered being awoken from a deep slumber by a noise in the hallway of her orphanage. She had assumed it would be one of her more troubled charges sneaking around. When she had found everyone asleep and no sign of any intruder, she had returned to her room. As soon as she had opened her door someone had struck her hard on the back of the head. Then she had woken up in this dark hell. Deborah did not know had long she had been here, maybe hours, maybe a whole day had passed, she could not be sure. Her whole world now consisted of a bucket, straw strewn over the stone floor, and a ragged blanket. She pressed her fingers against the door, shifting them inside the crack as she tried once again to pry it open. After a while she gave it up as a lost cause. Despair filled her soul. She went to a corner with her blanket, sat down and clutched the Star of David on her neck as she wept.

"Reid, I got here as soon as I heard." Jackson entered the room with a medical bag in hand. Reid's wide eyes met his own, startling him. Jackson had never seen Reid this frightened. Reid gestured to him and Drake and then spoke to the rest of the constables.

"You two, with me. The rest of you get out and search the area, ask around to see if anyone has heard or seen anything out of the ordinary." Reid shut the door with the three of them inside; his eyes searched the room resting momentarily on the blood, a shattered lantern, and the various items scattered about the floor. "Miss Goren heard something that awakened her. She leaves the room with her lantern and comes back to find her things being riffled by some assailant-"

"No, her room would have been searched after." Jackson interrupted.

"Why?" Reid asked.

"The blood is on top of the books and clothes. She would have been hit from behind, with the back of that poker, I don't doubt." Jackson put his hand out to a poker lying amongst the glass. "See the blood on the end of the handle there. She would have been knocked to the floor." Homer Jackson gestured at the various points on the floor. "There the outline of her body, the blood pooling from the back of her head." Drake nudged his side roughly and Jackson began to notice the effect his words were having upon Reid. "Sorry." He muttered.

"Never mind." Reid waved his hand and returned to his study of the room. "So the intruder then goes though her things, searching for…something. After finding it or not, he takes her with him." Reid remained silent for a few moments, his attention once more riveted to the large pool of dried blood. Jackson felt he had to say something comforting.

"I know there is a lot of blood, but head wounds often bleed a lot more than they should, I'm sure she's alright." Reid's eyes snapped up and slammed into his soul.

"Do not make presumptions. You know nothing of the kind, and the fact that she is not here and remains with her captor means she is not _alright_!" Drake put a calming hand on Reid's good shoulder.

"Sir, we'll get her back." Neither Reid nor Jackson voiced their opinions on Drake's assertion.

They had searched the twisted streets of Whitechapel, high and low, throughout the night and the morning. There had been no sign of Deborah Goren; she might well have been a spirit for all they could find of her. Edmund Reid tried not to think that way. He sat in his office going over the events of the past day. They had spoken to her children and found they knew nothing of the events leading up to Ms. Goren's abduction. One child, a young boy, had discovered her disappearance after waking to a noise sounding from her room. When he had opened her door, she was gone, and all was as they found it. The boy had then run for the police. He swept the papers from his desk in a fit of frustration and clutched his head. He could not for the life of him imagine why anyone would want to harm Ms. Goren. She was the very picture of good will and charity. The only blemish in her life was he himself. He prayed to God that he was not in some fashion the cause of her current distress…

He returned home at Jackson's impertinent insistence. He had convinced him at length and repeatedly that he could not aid Ms. Goren's present predicament if he fell flat on his face from exhaustion. Reid had reluctantly agreed to his urging. Which was why he found himself staring at his own house, as if at a stranger's, with little memory of how he had gotten home. He entered, went to his bedroom and proceeded to collapse onto his bed, after first taking of his shoes and coat. Emily came into the room soon after. She sat beside him on the bed and rested a hand on top of his.

"Has something happened?" She asked tentatively.

"Something? Yes, something has indeed happened." He said as he pulled his hand roughly from her grip.

"What is the matter with you?" She asked, shocked brown eyes met his grey ones.

"Ms. Goren." He said honestly.

"Our friend, the Jewess who runs the orphanage? Is she not well?" She asked, concern tingeing her voice.

"I'm afraid that she is not." He replied.

"Oh Dear God! What has happened?" Emily exclaimed.

"She has vanished, been taken forcibly from her room, there was much blood at the scene." He said as indifferently as he could.

"Edmund, I can see why you are upset. She is a very kind woman. Is there a chance that you will find her?" Emily looked at him with understanding and once more grasped his unresisting hand in hers.

"I hope so Emily, I truly do hope so." His other hand reached out to hold hers, until she pulled away moments later, uncomfortable with the feelings his heated touch stirred within her.

"I shall go and pray for her." She said, leaving to go to her church and do just that. Edmund stared after her.

"If you must." He said with finality.


	3. Sometimes Tears Arn't Enough

Capt. Homer Jackson and Sgt. Bennett Drake poured through Deborah Goren's things, trying to find some clue to her disappearance before Reid returned. They found very little. Ms. Goren had few personal items, perhaps because she was a frugal person. Drake shook his head at Jackson as he pawed through some undergarments. Jackson grinned back and dropped them, shrugging.

"So how's Bella?" Jackson drawled casually, unable to resist from riling Drake when he could.

"_Ms_. Bella, and fine." Drake said, snapping off the word.

"You've been visiting her a lot, are her charms to your liking?" Jackson asked.

"Drop it." Bennett growled. Jackson smiled to himself having gotten the reaction he wanted. Drake leafed through one of the books left on the floor. "Hard to believe that anyone would want to harm Ms. Goren." Drake said dropping the book and looking at the photos of children on her walls.

"Everyone has secrets, and there are always sick people in the world." Jackson said.

"Yeah." Drake agreed, having met some of those sick people personally and having secrets of his own.

"But I do agree with you, except for her interactions with a married man, the woman is a saint." Jackson said.

"What?" Drake asked.

"You're pretending you didn't know?" Jackson said incredulously.

"Didn't know what?" Drake said wonderingly.

"You mean you didn't! You live in that man's ass, and you don't know he was bedding this woman?" Jackson asked, shocked.

"What are you talking about? I don't believe it, you're mad, he wouldn't do that; the inspector is an honorable man." Drake stoutly defended his boss.

"You poor blind, insipid dog." Jackson said pityingly.

"Shut up!" Drake snapped.

"Fine, but you should know about it, since we're trying to find this woman." Jackson said.

"He wouldn't." Drake insisted, suddenly thinking back to the time he had caught Reid kissing the woman.

"As you say Drake, as you say." Jackson said shaking his head.

Deborah Goren heard a bell tolling and realized she must be near a church, and that it must be morning. She had been in this hole all night. She dried her tears and thought about Reid. Not for the first time she wondered whether he had realized she was missing yet. If he did, nothing would stop him from finding her. He was a determined man. She held on to that belief as the cold curled its fingers around her. The rats hadn't let her sleep. They could get in through the cracks in the walls and door. Every time she had slept they had come and nibbled at her. She hated their scratching. She'd kept a cat at the orphanage to kill the things. She wrapped the blanket around her extremities and tried to still her breathing as she panicked. It was then that she saw light streaking through under the door, and heard footsteps.

"Hello." She called desperately. "Help, please let me out!" No one replied. The flickering light and footsteps stopped outside her door. She bent to the bottom of the door and looked out, all she could see was blinding light and maybe some stout shoes. A bowl and mug were placed by the door and pushed through the crack. Deborah moved backwards to let it in. She went back to the door and reached out a hand as she said, "Why? Why me? Let me go, please!" There was no reply, the light moved away with the shoes and she was left once more in darkness. She felt at the bowl and smelled stew. She felt a spoon in it and ate it, hoping that it wasn't poisoned. But she was too hungry and thirsty to care. She sipped at the mug of water, hoping it would last until she was out of here or until she was fed again. The rats attacked the bowl as soon as she set it down. If it were poisoned, at least she wouldn't have to worry about the rats anymore. Sometimes tears weren't enough.

_She played in the park, the sun shining on her hair. _It always started that way, brilliant and happy… _She turned to him then smiling, clutching the new doll he had gotten her to her blue dress. The grey clouds moved in steadily. He reached for her; to take her home before the rain began. Her mother would be angry with him if he let her get her dress ruined in the rain. As he reached, she slipped away from him somehow, a smile on her face as if it were a game. She was a foot to his left now so he reached again. Still she slipped away, like an eel. The rain began falling then, big fat drops. Then the girl screamed suddenly as shadows leapt from the ground dragging her up into the clouds. He screamed, "Matilda!" reaching upwards, puddles of blood surrounding him from the dark red rain. She came then; a woman in flowing white splattered with red, her hem dragging through the mud. _

"_Edmund, save me?" Deborah asked imploringly, her eyes dark circles, as the shadows came for her as well... _

Edmund Reid opened his eyes, well used to trapping his cries in his throat and the dull throbbing ache in his shoulder. By the clock on his mantle it was well after noon. Feeling slightly more refreshed, he dressed quickly and followed his nose to the kitchen. He found a pot of cold stew on the table and ate a flavorful bowl before he left for work. He called for Emily, but received no reply, so he assumed she was still at church. When he arrived at the station he asked for Drake and Jackson. He met with Drake in his office. Drake twisted his hat between his hands, not wanting to admit his failure.

"Drake, have you found anything yet?" Reid asked.

"No, Sir, we've found neither hide nor hair of Ms. Goren." Drake replied. He looked at his boss with a question in his eyes, wanting and yet fearing to ask him about his relationship with Ms. Goren. Reid caught his eyes, and held them in an icy stare.

"If you have something on your chest Drake, I'd feel much relieved if you got it off it." Reid asked. Drake pulled his eyes away with effort. The man could freeze an iceberg with those eyes, if he'd a mind to.

"No, nothing sir." Drake said quickly. Reid waved his hand towards the door.

"Get the men some rest." Reid said.

"Yes, sir. And if I might ask, what will you be doing Sir?" Drake asked tentatively. Reid got his coat and bowler back on and headed for the door himself.

"I _will_ be finding Ms. Goren." He said determined. Jackson suddenly slammed open the door, dislodging Reid's grip and almost knocking him into the wall. Jackson smiled in apology, saying gauntly.

"Charging about willy-nilly? That isn't your way Reid."

"What do you know?" Reid snapped back.

"I know that you're not thinking clearly right now. Let's consider this calmly and logically. Why would anyone take Deborah Goren?" Reid raised his head and sat back behind his desk, straightening his papers.

"Do you not think the same thoughts have occurred to me? There is no reason, no good reason on this Earth to harm such a woman as herself." Reid said passionately.

"There were the Russians." Jackson said as held up a finger.

"That was an attack on London." Bennett said.

"And on Jews, which she is." Jackson added.

"But why her in particular, if it is because she is Jewish, why not just kill her and be done with it?" Reid wondered out loud.

"Its just an idea Reid, not an explanation." Jackson said as he raised his hands. Edmund held up a hand as a thought occurred to him.

"Wait, wait a moment." Reid said.

"Have you thought of something?" Jackson asked.

"Just give me a moment of silence!" Reid yelled. He began to pace back and forth voicing his thoughts. "In her room, her things riffled with, there were papers, and books scattered about the floor, yes?" He said.

"Yes." Jackson agreed.

"I think we should take another look at those books perhaps they hold the key to her abduction." Reid said with a slight smile, leaving the station with Bennett Drake and Homer Jackson in tow.

Emily Reid's knees ached from kneeling on the cold stone floor. Of course he had not remembered, had not cared to remember. She stared up at mother Mary looking down at her baby. Something she could not now do. Her husband, her fine upstanding husband had done the worst thing he could have done to her. He'd given her hope. Hope that her child may have lived, have survived the wreck that her husband had brought upon her. Then he had taken away that hope, dashed it and drowned it on that same wreck. The least he could have done was remember the anniversary of their daughter's death. But no, he chose to spend it working on his precious case, sleeping the day away; she was not surprised, nothing surprised her anymore. Nothing made her feel anymore. She was just a shell, mouthing the proper words, an automaton playing out a predetermined role, nothing more than a pitiful player acting out a scripted part. She had lit the candle for her daughter alone. Its flickering light was all that held her together. It would take only a brief puff to blow her away. She swayed on her knees, awaiting that final breath, wishing it would come to join her with her darling girl, Matilda.


End file.
